|
Sergeant Alf Waterhouse
Into the Bag
Awaking next morning on the 15th of February I sighed, what will today bring ? Breakfast was ready, bacon and egg and I thought I wouldn’t be hungry but I was very hungry. We had no table or chairs so I ate mine sitting on the steps to the hut. About ten o’clock a gunner was shouting,
“Come and look at this bloody lot”.
The whole troop piled out to look towards Singapore, on the wide Promenade Road I saw a sight that struck me with horror and a great sadness.
Surrender by Leo Rawlings
Our Flag was being carried alongside a white sheet, side by side marched our General Percival wearing his tin bowler and shorts. Marching erect and following him were about ten high ranking officers.
It was pathetic or shameful,
As the group passed I saluted the flag and felt I had to sit down. It felt as though a hard hand was gripping my heart and tears fell down my face. I was beside myself with grief “Licked, licked by something or someone I had never seen”.
I heard the sound of breaking glass, a glasses crunch, crunch. It came from the Raffles.
I wanted to cry ‘No’ as I set out to see what was happening, the noise, not registering it was not my business. The crashes were coming from the far end of the Hotel where two young men in uniform smashing bottle after bottle of spirits, whisky, gin, everything. They grinned at me,
“Mustn’t let the Japanese get to this stuff as it would cause a riot if not murder”.
I agreed, perhaps the Japanese were not used to strong drink.
“Take as many bottles as you like free” was offered me.
I would certainly have liked to take a few, but how could I store, pack and carry them? I knew enough that a long trek was most likely ahead of me. Shaking my head I was about to turn when he pointed to a large box,
“Help yourself to cigarettes in that box”
Looking inside I saw dozens of long cartons of Players, maybe there were twenty five packs in each carton. There was no weight this time so I took three cartons for me and the lads.
Back at our hut I packed my few belongings and the loot. Two pairs of shorts and a shirt, two pairs of heavy boots, two towels all new, also in went sundry bits and pieces.
There was no sign of our new warders but a small army wagon had appeared with the driver wanting his wagon unloaded quick. On the wagon were two rather big pieces of meat, three boxes of what looked like biscuits. A black-haired gunner was passing so I grabbed him to help, knowing he was always near the bone in discipline, but I was a surprised by his reply,
“Do it your bloody self, your not a sergeant any more”
I had not noticed in the shadows behind me was Major Gill. In a voice like thunder he exploded,
“You are still a British soldier, prisoner of war yes, but in six months the British Army will invade and we will be fighting with them to rid Singapore of the Japanese. Don’t forget it”.
The gunner was destroyed and quickly got to unload the wagon. The talk of an invasion in six months sounded like music to me, but I was doubtful.
It was just after the midday meal, when I remembered there was talk of kit bags down the road and there might be some kit I would be glad of, so off I went. I hadn’t gone a mile when I passed a very large wealthy looking house set in their own parkland. Smoke made me look in that direction to see an Army Truck with camouflage canvas, and a young British Officer was throwing soil, from the garden, onto a fire at the rear of the house. He shouted to me for help as the truck was likely to explode. Just then a soldier came running towards us from the from the front of the house shouting,
“Upstairs are a dozen badly wounded men, we must get them out”
The three of us rushed in and as thought, the fire was in the back, the hall and stairs were untouched, we were in no danger at the moment from the fire. We got the wounded out and laid them on the front lawn. There was nothing else we could do as black smoke had started to creep up the stairs and we were making us breath in the damn stuff.
After helping load the wounded into the truck I decided to forget the kit bags and get back to the gun site as maybe we were being rounded up.
Having got back I found no one there, the whole area was deserted, I was shaken, now alone in enemy country. Would they be bothered in a lone soldier who could speak not a word of Japanese, nor I thought could they speak English.
My imagination began to work overtime again. When the Regiment were rounded up and marched away would any of them given a thought to me, they would have been worrying about what their future, not mine. I started to call myself names, how could I have been so daft to start wandering off. Perhaps I should go along the road to Singapore and hope for the best. A strange feeling was mounting, similar to a castaway sailor on some foreign beach.
What was that noise?, a sound similar to a roof falling accompanied by the crackle of a raging fire. Looking back at the hut, to the rear, facing the Straits, it was on fire. Flames were now rising high and my kit was inside. Running into the hut, the large was alright, grabbing my my backpack army grey blanket, I quickly made a retreat outside. Standing on the pavement, marching noises made me turn to face British soldiers coming towards me in single file, looking worn out. They passed me without seeing me and suddenly one threw his rifle on to the spare ground very close to the now blazing hut. As others passed they also threw their rifles, ammunition pouches and bandoleers full of bullets. There soon grew a high pyramid of rifles which started to catch fire. Bullets starting bursting and in panic I made distance from the firework display as I wasn’t sure whether they flew in all directions, or just fell about. It was about time I went my way, and I set out for the City.
I turned off down a wide avenue, I don’t know why but found Sergeant Bumgara coming towards me shouting,
“You there, I’m looking for strays. Go straight down that road and into a large park the rest of the Regiment is waiting there. God man look at you a British sergeant, dirty, unkempt, a real disgrace”
I wondered what he’d been doing all spick and span.
I found my crew sitting around a large lily pond, having a two foot wall. I could see myself in the still water and saw that I was covered in black soot, my shorts were filthy. Knowing no cleaner could be provided I undressed and scrubbed them as best I could. I was hoping the sun would dry me off but at that moment the Sergeant Major called us to parade. We were marched for fifteen minutes to a golf course and were told to wait by the 18th Green.
After about ten minutes two gunners appeared with new brown boots which they said they had been given by a nearby Australian Unit. I thought I would have a gander, but my luck was out, they had all gone. From where I was standing I could see what looked like a Council Estate. If the people had gone and left the houses empty, had they left anything? After several completely empty houses I was just about to give up my search when I found a heavy long cape reaching to the ground with a fixed hood. We still had monsoons, so I took it, also finding a couple of toilet rolls, which were a good find. Next door I found a fairly large bottle of Horlicks Malted Milk. In the yard was a battered child’s pram which I soon filled with my bits and pieces, this was a God send. Off I trotted back to the 18th tee, where I got a lot of chaff such as,
“What’s the baby’s name. Does yer wife know”
They could laugh, but maybe I’d have the last laugh.
A Major Jacques, a roly poly man, rather under height and always seemed untidy, came to inform us the Japanese would march us away within the next hour. We would have to carry our own kit as there were no vehicles available. He then proceeded to try and fix two suitcases with rope, suspending one on each side, with the rope round his neck. Watching, we all knew there was no chance he could manage. The suitcase would rub and bounce and the weight pull him down. I believe this was the first time I had ever known pity of an officer.
Whilst he was trying to walk, a large army wagon arrived, the back being full of our Officers and what seemed to be an extra amount of kit. They shouted for him to get aboard. Ah wel, we had to walk showing to us the division between officers and their men. To be fair this was not of the officers making.
After the comedy, and some distance, we were called to parade, and I with others got our first sight of the Japanese soldiers. Personally I was amazed at the number ot them wearing glasses, very under sized, their rifle and bayonet taller than they were. They wore funny little hats with a red star, some had two belts, puttees, and many had a little doll fastened to their belts. Looking them over I noticed their canvas boots which had a division between their big toe and the other toes, it gave a look of a forked foot. Hanging from the back of their hats was a piece of material which shaded their necks. All carried a peculiar metal hot water canteen. They were completely expressionless.
So off we set to a life we had never imagined. Having what seemed to be reaching the suburbs, we passed through a check point to which there seemed to be no reason. There were two high poles, one each side with a cross pole, which raised or lowered. We were shocked, staring in amazement, as at the top of each of the tall poles was beheaded head of a Chinese.
For the first time in the march I was in dread, what sort of people were these? If any of us fell out, these sods would use their bayonets on us. I was thankful for the pram, hoping it would hold out.
We were now far beyond Singapore and there he was, a Sikh soldier wearing his tangerine turban. He was attempting to make a getaway through a garden hedge, when a shot range out, he was shot dead.
A little further on two army lorries stood burnt out, and ahead of them were two open burnt out army cars. In the rear of these burnt out cars, sat the burnt out skeletons of officers, with their drivers in the front seats. I walked past empty of any feeling and it worried me. Had I passed by sudden death, turning me into a zombie, a non person without feeling.
I must not become like these guards, I must have feelings, a sense of being able to help others. We marched on silent, each with his own private thoughts. Mine were of England, had I really appreciated all the help and love, even forgiveness in certain directions? Not being able to bring any images of situations to mind, my main thoughts were of home and England.
We were passing through a native village, open fronted shops, and looking in no stock nothing but a native smoking his pipe. All the shops and houses had a Japanese flag flying. They were frightened and looking ahead on the roadway we could see why as many natives lay in their own blood, none of us dared to make a move towards them. About ten native women appeared with sarongs, holding out mugs of drinking water for us, many of them in tears. I didn’t stop for a drink, but felt a sense of thank you and their thoughts for us as we passed by. I hoped we looked like British soldiers, heads held high and be damned but to them we must have seemed like a depressing lot, marching to an unknown fate.
We had been walking for some three hour and the men were staggering and weaving, the lack of food and water was starting to pay its price. I was praying not to fall as you may never get up. Darkness was beginning to descend, had we far to go? The men were beginning to ask of how much further we had to go, talk was we would be walking off the bloody Island soon.
The banter gave me a strange feeling, as in my thoughts I saw the photographs and the printed word of thousands of British soldiers being evacuated at Dunkirk in France. They had travelled through hell and back. What had I suffered, I was suffering from self pity. I must pull myself together and not let these bandits and gangsters get me down. With this, I felt better, nothing was going to get me down, but ‘Oh God’ the front wheel of the pram was giving trouble, praying to the pram, ‘you’ve done well old pal now finish off in style’.
Trying to lean it backwards and also to the left, I could’t carry all my luggage, and the pram was wobbling in the now total darkness. As if my prayers were answered we quite unexpectedly turned off the road, had we arrived at our destination and this terrible walk was over? Where were the men who dropped down in utter fatigue, were they alright? I felt the pram becoming unsteady and awkward to steer,
“Come on old pal not far now”. Or at least I hoped so we had stopped, all was quiet, still and dark, what now?
Officers arrived and they all had handsets with bright bulbs. We were sectioned off in groups of perhaps fifty. My lot were marched a short distance and in the light from the handset a long hut came into view.
“Get inside and settle down for the night”
A wag shouted out “Even Oliver Twist got a supper”.
There was a laugh and I smiled, yes it takes a lot to get us British down. Having ditched the pram and bedded down, as no one told us how much space we each had, I made sure I had got my share. There was much whispering and some profound shouts as someone got trod on. Suddenly there was a bright light and an officers voice rang out,
“Follow me and don’t get lost. Bring your water canteens and queue up at the tap” Stumbling along we eventually reached a long long queue. At last my turn, when a young officer standing by asked
“It’s Alf Waterhouse isn’t it?”.
The light shone on my face, his face was familiar, then I remembered he was a young insurance clerk named Blackburn and on many occasions along with a security man in the same Insurance Company, we were drinking pals in the Blackburn Clifton Hotel. He had enlisted into our sister Regiment the 88th Field from Preston. Since then our drinking nights had stopped, such a pity as he was a real nice lad to be around in civie street. After a quick reminisce I made my way back to my space and a welcome sleep.
On waking next morning, looking around I could not remember where the devil I was. Then it came back when the Sergeant Major came in shouting the familiar,
“Show a leg” kicking awake two half sleeping men.
“Come on you two follow me, remember that mess duties include men going to the cook three times daily. I will instruct that sergeant on your duties. Come on”
Later the hapless gunners arrived, struggling with heavy wooden buckets. These contained rice, to be filled to the top of a pint mug and the same with the so called stew. The tea was just enough.
Queuing we sat down and looked in disgust, the meal consisted of about half being rice but the other was white weevils. We all started picking out these revolting creatures. The rice was tasteless, and the so called stew was just hot water, not a drop of any meat. Whilst being glad I had found an enamel plate and spoon otherwise I did not know how I would have managed. As I had no mug, I had no tea. The men were expressing themselves in their own way, but what could be done, we were in Japanese hands.
The bugler called Roll Call and we gathered outside. The Sergeant Major’s voice rang out, and it was certainly working overtime,
“Men over here at the double. We lined up on a large lawn and looking at a large all white building, was it a factory? It turned out to be, or had been, a military hospital. The far wing had received a fair bang from bomb, so I presumed there was no Red Cross.
Having duly lined up in column of three and counted, we were kept to ‘atten-shun’ for perhaps an hour, with our legs and back aching, not knowing why or when we would be dismissed.
Seen, coming towards us an obvious high ranking Japanese Officer who was . very smart in a tailored uniform, with tabs on his uniform neck, shining high boots and a nasty looking massive sword. Looking at us with an expressionless face he started speaking in a loud commanding voice having climbed onto a wooden box. It went something like this
“You are prisoners of war under the care and protection of the Tojo, the Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Empire of Japan. This does not mean that you are under the protection of the Geneva Convention as Japan did not sign such a Treaty.
You must respect the Japanese soldiers at all times. If you have misbehaviour (he did say that) you will be punished. Any attempt of escape and capture will be death the same day. No trial and no excuse will be excepted.
You have laid many mines, these must be cleared and by you. Any Japanese soldier killed by one of these mines, nine British prisoners will be killed. The Japanese are kind people, and you will be treated well. Your food, accommodation, travel, illness will be the same as for our soldiers.
It is more than possible that Japan conquer the Far East, and you will go to Japan to live and die.
That is all”.
After that welcome we were dismissed and the Sergeant Major nailed about twenty of us.
“You are to go to the big car park, I’ll show you where, and you will push a wagon down this road, at the cross roads turn left and you will be on the beach. Unload the ten forty gallon barrels on the wagon and fill them with sea water. This is the only water we will have. The cooks will try to get rid of the salt. If you pass any houses or outbuildings, search for large pans or anything that will help the cooks, they have been given nothing to cook with. Now follow me now to the car park.
When we reached the car park we were all surprised, the car park was in a shallow valley, there were at least fifty army trucks standing there. The cabins and all upper works had been taken off, leaving just the chassis on its wheels. Engines and gear boxes were stripped and taken away. This made steering and pushing easy but putting the ten rusty steel barrels on proved more difficult. After finding two planks of wood it helped as they made a base for the barrels, and off we went.
We found the beach and the white sandy beach looked inviting. The sea gently rippling ashore, and on shore line was welcome shade under the palm trees, with a small empty sea cottage. Not overlooked by no machine gun waving Japanese, we entered a defence looking concrete building. It had no mounted guns inside, in fact it had nothing, if a hand was rubbed or a nail was punched into the said concrete, pieces fell away. It was made more from sand than concrete, this spoke louder than words, the Island Fortress was a sham.
Filling the barrels, loading them and taking our load back, was a sweating job, but we knew without helping ourselves we just would survive.
It was getting near the midday meal, or so we thought it was, but I saw two of our sergeants down the road seeming to be hammering, so I went to see. It had not registered that in service we would have civie street sheet metal makers, but here they were. The sergeants were hammering out mugs, plates, in fact anything the lads wanted, provided they found the metal, and yes, they would fit me up with a mug, if I found the sheet metal. Having explained that this was impossible, one of them opened my eyes when told,
“Try and find an old fruit tin or Heinz tin”. He would then add a handle, and by presto I would have a mug. Trying to think where such a tin would be, as without it I would be obliged to drink from my water bottle with no tea. With a near inspiration, I thought, try the cooks.
Disappointment, they of course were unable to find any kind of tin can, one of them told me I might find one down a swill pit, it was worth having a decko. With little hope I searched the pit and Hallelujah, I came across an empty Heinz tin.
Triumphantly I produced this to the sheet plate men and they quickly used thick three ply wire, wrapped round the tip and made a stout handle. I was over the moon with my new mug but looking at my new treasure, it was not pint sized. The food ladlers used your mug carefully wiping across the top. I would lose a tablespoon or so at each meal. I asked the man behind me in the queue if I could use his to empty the contents onto my plate. The first time or two this was met with great suspicion and eagle eyes.
After a poor midday meal picking out weevils, the tea being a big disappointment, looking like hot water with just a just a taint of tea, I was walking round with a knowledgeable Royal Engineer lad. He took me quite a distance and then showed me six large deep circular pits, with a steel ladder perpendicular down each side. As a gunner I was looking in awe at the sixteen inch Naval guns. Running along the top was a narrow gauge railway line leading from the guns to ammunition casement. If these guns had only fired into Malaya itself the slaughter of Japanese being great. Coming away we passed small hillock and on top a strong stone fortress building with a notice ‘Headquarters of the Gordon Regiment. Now locked up’. He then showed me what had been a small factory, raised to the ground, showing cellars, twisted machinery and steel girders. There was a strange smell and an uncanny feeling. He smiled at my grimace remarking,
“This was a small fitting place for Engineers, and as you see it was flattened. A few men were burnt to death here and you can still smell the burnt flesh”.
We were nearing our camp and passed a wire fence, hanging on it was a red hospital blanket, being thin it had been a throw out but to me it was worth grabbing it, a good find.
The following day I was detailed with six men as a Work Party, we boarded a truck with an elderly Japanese guard. and we drove back to Singapore. On reaching our destination, we were ushered off the truck with the guard and some tools, and the truck drove away. The guard handed us all a sharp garden scythe, and with body language, he showed us that we had to cut the grass edging to about about fifteen foot from the roadway, the grass rounded off some many yards away. One of our team told us that this was the private roadway to Fort Canning. I would have liked to take a look at this historic building which was the Headquarters of British High Command until now, but the guard made sure we were busy bending our backs cutting the grass. The guard looked elderly for a soldier, always looking at us with suspicion, and constantly waving his arms about. He had a telephone which was ringing every five minutes or so at which he answered saying,
“MUSHY…MUSHY”.
It was about four o.clock, or so it seemed. as I had left my watch with my kit for safety, a truck arrived and we drove away. Just as we were to enter a main road we saw in the roadway a Japanese officer, very very smart including the long sword. As we watched a small Chinese boy, no more than ten, approached his Highness with a handful of cigarette packets. As quick as a snake the officer’s fist smashed into the boy’s face. As the boy fell with one voice we shouted, “Bastard”. We could have saved our voices as he just look at us with his supercilious manner. We hadn’t travelled far when we stopped on a minor road, I think the the driver was lost or wanted to relieve himself as he got out of the truck and disappeared. Coming along a side road was another small boy with a tray in front of him, on it was what looked like small round cakes, or so it seemed, as we could smell new baked bread. The cakes were the size of a doughnut. Looking at us, the Chinese boy held out his hand counting to six. As my total wealth was six cents, I could afford one so I got out my money. I was green with envy as I saw some of the lads buying more than one, they had quite a few dollars against my six cents. After obtaining my one doughnut it seemed to me to have been baked in heaven. Looking around I noticed we had stopped outside a library. Thinking I’d take a few books, I body languaged to the guard before flashing inside. Knowing I had no time to pick out books, I snatched up about five books which had been left by previous borrowers. A very attractive young woman of about twenty behind the counter, had horror on her face. In a firm business voice she said
“How dare you walk in here and start to take books”.
I was a bit astonished but still replied pointing at the truck outside,
“Miss, don’t you know the Japanese own everything in Singapore including these books”
Having put doubt in her mind as the Japanese may accuse her, I quickly vanished. with the books back in the lorry. One of the lads was now wearing my bush hat, the hat was one of my treasured possessions. The hats had been issued to the Signals Regiment and I had paid two dollars and a packet of cigarettes to a Malayan for this well worn hat, but it was a bush hat. I had inked in my three stripes on the up turned side Australian style and these were clearly seen as I shouted the lad now wearing my hat.
“What you think you’re doing, give me back my bloody hat.
Before going into the library I must have put the blasted hat on the wooden seat.
“Sorry Sarge I thought it was being thrown away”
He handed my hat over and being satisfied with his explanation, my treasured possession was back on my head.
Now back at our hut I looked at the books which were a poor lot, but it was something to read.
Next morning the men of our hut were told to be prepared to move. My pram was of no use so I packed as much as I could carry on my back. After about Ten minutes of marching we turned into a small cul-de-sac. On the right was a modern derelict car and opposite this was six brick bungalows. Sorting ourselves out and going down the six steps to the bungalow entrances, we took possession of the bungalows. We thought the bungalows may have been for senior hospital staff, each place comprised a kitchen, toilet, dining room and bedroom, sparsely furnished so some had to sit on the floor. After about half an hour a lorry pulled up loaded with rice sacks. We had to carry these heavy sacks on our backs which made on unsteady on our feet and scared of falling. The sacks where stored in the bungalows which left us with even less room.
The next four days were boring past belief, there was absolutely nothing to do. The food was terrible and the men getting rebellious, which was worrying. However the situation was resolved as again we were marching, but this time over two hours.
Words were being passed along by soldiers on the march who knew this area,
“Be passing Changi Gaol soon”
I had never heard of it, what was so important about Changi which loomed on our left ahead, in the semi darkness. The word ‘Gaol’ emitted thoughts of torture, brutality, silent mysteries, and perhaps ghosts of the hanged men. Shaking off these childish thoughts, we turned left through the archway in a solid thick stone walling. We could see either end was a tall watch tower for guards, but unoccupied. Going through a smaller stone wall and onto a large lawn, there were buildings on two sides. As we stopped here I presumed, like many of the others that this was the final place to spend our captivity, in this fortress like prison. Everything was high, anyone could escape it seemed impossible. Apart from our guards there were no Japanese about.
After quite some time we were marched into the prison proper. It seemed about four storeys high with safety nets between the long corridors and obvious cell doors, with steel stairways at either end. Thinking that I am now a convict, to be confined to a cell. Men were being herded into cells and now it was my turn to mount the stairs and was put in my cell. In the centre was a concrete erection about two foot high and three feet wide, obviously a most uncomfortable bed. The pillow I looked at with dismay, this was a small box like fitting just enough to fit your neck and head. Oh blimey how long was I to spend in this miserable prison cell?
I could tell all were now housed and as the door was open I ventured out, others were doing the same. Back on the ground floor I started to look around and found myself in a large empty room, perhaps it was a dining room once. Down a corridor I found a long shower room which later I found could let us shower from 8 to 8.30 in the morning, this was at least some comfort. We didn’t know then but there was modern plumbing and toilets, we soon were to lose that luxury.
All the walls in the prison were grey and drab, without any wall hangings, just plain. Having entered one room I decided this could be a torture chamber as standing in a corner as a tall easel like structure with leather straps, obviously it was a whipping stand. In the far corner looking gaunt and frightening, was a portable gallows on wheels with a rope tied to the side. In the centre was a long well washed white top table with leather straps. I got out of the room in a hurry. Going back to the main hall I saw many of our men in dark blue thin cotton jackets and trousers. Asking how they come by the gear, I was directed to a room which was full of the gear. Having gandered over I got myself the two pieces. We were now all dressed alike, and the clothing was cool and refreshing. In a very short time, word was passed along, to put back the blue uniforms by order of the Japanese. How had this come about I had seen no Japanese officers. More than likely our officers gave the order as not to upset the Japanese.
Going outside onto the very big lawn there was I a large tent, this turned out to be for officers as a mess as there was a long trestle table and two forms inside. That first meal at evening time, is still burned on my memory, somehow the cooks had found a tin of bacon, the first an only one I tasted in the camps. Apart from the weevils in the rice, it tasted like a course in a high-class restaurant, it was memorable. My piece of bacon was perhaps the size of my thumb, hardly a goodly size, but it was marvellous.
This situation lasted about four days, but suddenly, and for no reason, small tents were erected on this lawn, this was now to be our living quarters. As the meals were very small at night I started eating a tablespoon of the Horlicks Malted Milk In my pack each day, there was no hot water so it had to be eaten.
The Horlicks didn’t help as one evening I started to feel a deep hunger. We were always hungry but this time it was different, I became ravenous. It was getting worse and it left me with a feeling of being really ill. I lay down in my little tent looking at the Horlicks, but no I must try to keep it to a tablespoon a day. I was tossing and turning at night and biting my knuckles, I had never felt like this before. I felt I was going mad. Strangely enough I got up and walked to the mess tent, and then to the far side where I knew the mess orderlies brought out the food buckets. Looking at my watch, the food would come out of the flap for at least another two hours. It may be hard to believe but I sat by that door, in some way trying to persuade them come out with the food earlier. I didn’t move until they actually came out with the food, I had wished the time away. Why had this sudden torment for food occurred, I was hungry but we all were. It could not be Malaria again as when a lad went down with it, he would not want to eat and his his mucker friends would take his meal and relish it. I have to admit we looked forward to that extra plate of food which would come our way. They were desperate days, and desperate actions, many men who had money would go without fear into the village about three miles away and managed to buy food.
It was my turn again to go to Singapore. About twenty of us packed in a covered truck, and we arrived at the docks. Ordered into a goo-down (storage shed) which held square cubes of rubber, each about three foot square. With the Japanese language tactics of informing us by the waving of arms around, it seemed we had to load the ship tied there. The cubes were not heavy but awkward as they bounced around, having a mind of their own. They were stacked a good twenty feet high, to get them down, a stacked pile had to be pushed over. As the stack fell the cubes of rubber bounced dangerously leaving the men below, with some very brightened words, trying to avoid them.
In the raucous I noticed that a evil looking guard kept looking at my wrist. There was nothing I could do but carry on but suddenly he grabbed my wrist, and turned my hand over, looking as I realised later, at my wrist strap. Being an elasticated strap, he was roughly pulling at it. I tried to stop him, who wouldn’t, he gave a big grunt, I felt pain, and my watch had gone. I knew there was no one to whom I could appeal, except nurse my chin which had met with the butt of his rifle. I looked at the wrists of many guards, none had a watch. I realised, of course these goons were the poorest of the poor, to them having a watch was wealthy.
Trying to get these cubes up the wooden stageway and not fall in the water brought outbursts of shouting from our neighbours, the shouting was not encouraging, but in other words ‘put your back into it’.
It was now tiffin time (midday food), this comprised a ball of rice which was now our standard pack sandwich lunch from the Nips. The Japanese were seated using their fingers and dipping them in their mess tins, which was a sort of longish tin, tapering but with lid. They also had pint mugs for their tea and were grinning at us. We looked with envy, not knowing what they were eating.
The loading finished it was dark and we were tired. With the passing days after the surrender we had done very little hard work and were feeling it.
Men who worked received a pittance in wages and spent this amongst the natives sellers outside Changi. They sold by the handful cigarette tobacco which looked like thin wire and was just as strong. This was put carefully in your tin with carefully folded paper. Finding the tins was hard but they were usually an empty tin of boot polish. It was about this time a new name came into our lives ‘THE MAKING’, as after tearing off a small piece from the paper, a small amount of tobacco was added from the tin, about one inch in length, then rolled into a cigarette, using the rice coating inside your mouth to make a seal. These smokes were named ‘Hags Bush’. After the smoke, the butt was carefully put away in your tin. A fellow POW having run out would ask a friend
“GOT THE MAKINGS?”
Your tin was the most treasured possession. As it was impossible to find your tin at work with your hands full, many just spat out a cigarette butt when finished smoking it. With eyes like a hawk we would be walking about with your eyes on the ground, looking for these spat out butts, tobacco was wealth it was like digging for gold. A made cigarette was called ‘TAILOR MADE’. You would walk tall with a Tailor Made. I had been very lucky as I still had the cigarettes I got at Raffles, I was a millionaire.
With others a number of us were ordered to erect coiled barb wire around the some Japanese officers quarters as it was rumoured natives were breaking in. They were housed about a quarter of a mile from Changi and believed to be warders or senior officials of the prison. Nailing two stout posts together making a cross and standing them at various distances, we fastened this ruddy awful wire to the posts. I am sure others thought the same as me, how much further? The run around the quarters seemed endless. Several had been issued with heavy gloves which were a God send. I together with others had none. The wire was full of sharp needles of steel. Even being careful, you still got a sharp prick. The Infantry or Pioneers would have laughed at us being elite gunners.
I had obtained a sharp gash from the wire, it was not too bad, about one inch long. As the M.O was asking a patient with a cut to, if possible, bring any old clean rag with them, as the Nips had issued very little to him. So knowing the M.O would have no bandages, I tried pulling down my shirt sleeve hoping this would act as some sort of cover. Two days later to my surprise I discovered a lump the size of an egg under my right arm pit. Parading sick, I saw the doctor, Captain Tomlinson, after inspecting the lump he diagnosed blood poisoning. He painted on some thin liquid, telling me no more work till the lump had gone. This suited me. He then warned,
“You will have to be careful, you could lose your arm if not life”.
That’s charming I thought.
On the notice board was a suggestion that a University course was being opened, teachers were asked to volunteer. Obviously, University Degree could not be attained but it would perhaps be useful at a later date. I put my name down to learn shorthand, but also to teach Auctioneering and Estate Work.
There was an eight thirty morning Roll Call, and also one at six o’clock late afternoon. I thought head counting at these Roll Calls was a stupid idea, as no Japanese were present. If anyone had escaped would the Head Official tell the Nips? Of course not.
Word was passed that after tomorrows morning Roll Call, a special Parade was to be taken place, and all the men to be present, as far as possible in their best uniform boots etc.
Next day after the morning Roll Call, we were marched off in style to a main road. This was not the road we had previously had used, but still a wide good road. We were orderd to line on side of the road, on the other side of the road were more troops, not known to us. Obviously, there must be thousands of lads somewhere else at Changi. Guarding the road were hundreds of Japanese soldiers watching us. Next to me was the Gas Officer Staff Sergeant Little. We must have been standing there a good hour when a Nip soldier started showing his rifle to Staff. This was a British rifle, and it was obvious the Nip had no idea how to load it. He motioned that Staff must show him. Oh dear, I felt sorry for Staff, like the Nip he had no idea as since soldering he had been gas only. Obviously the Nip thought Staff was being awkward, so he got face slaps. Deeply humiliated and unable to do anything. I thought about grabbing the rifle to show the Nip, but this could be misunderstood and might turn ugly. The Nip walked away and peace reigned. Suddenly the Japanese guards were stiff at attention. It seemed a long time before a cavalcade of cars, filled with high up officers of the Japanese army, passed being followed by open trucks with Japanese soldiers sitting erect with rifles between their legs. We just stood there aghast, was this perhaps a victory parade? We were never told.
On putting down my name as a teacher for Auctions and Estate Agents, I had realised of course academically, I had little to offer. Law of Landlord and Tenant, building construction, there was little I could offer, but had thought it may wind away some time in the evenings. I was in for a rude awakening.
Using a small room for my first lesson. The room was bare with, no chairs or tables, a shortage of paper and no blackboard. Asking for pencils or ink, I was told the pupils would have to provide their own as we had none.
Three so called pupils had turned up so I thought I would give a resume of the work first and then questions. Leaving the answers for the next session. Two, sitting close on the floor, gave me an instinctive kind of intuition, making me uneasy. So I started with,
“Have any of you had any experience in say Landlord and Tenant or survey work?”
It worked, as one of the two replied,
“My friend and I were pupils with a large West End Estate firm. Property under £100,000 was not entered into the books. The firm specialised in large blocks of flats. Can we therefore start not as beginners”.
As I came from a seaside resort, this type of business was quite beyond me, finishing the lesson at that point, the joke was on me, I could not teach these pupils anything.
Sitting in my pup tent I felt humiliated but then laughed. The joke was on me, but they could have led me on until far beyond a joke. It did strike me that whole idea of teaching, no matter what subject, was ill thought out, in fact for me ridiculous. How could any teacher be in a position to teach in these conditions. I would resign from teaching but put in an appearance on learning shorthand.
There were about eight or nine of us, again just sitting on the hard floor, at the shorthand lessons, when in he came with his usual swagger, Gunner Clegg. He was a solicitor’s clerk in a small solicitor’s office, but he had an irritating arrogant swagger. After enlisting, he had been the Battery clerk, whatever that meant. During our days and weeks in battle conditions, he had been in the Battery Office. In fact, some could say had up till now had a nice war. In fairness he tried to give us an idea of the origin of shorthand, but at that stage he gave no indication of how he would teach us.
Of course, the whole idea of University Degrees in the camps was not thought out and I could see, it would not happen as hoped.
From this experience, I agreed with myself, that the future was work on the docks perhaps daily. Taking away the rotten food, this work was not too deadly. The guards were in the main decent and not bullying.
Listening to two officers discussing our future, their opinion was now mine, that an invasion to release us would take three to four years, and any right-minded person must agree. The Allies must win Egypt, Italy, invade France, and enter Germany before thinking about the Far East. The Japanese had gone south and Australia was at their mercy. It was rumoured Sumatra, Java, Dutch East India, Borneo, Burma and Hong Kong, had fallen, how far had the Japanese Empire grown, and every Japanese gain had to be won back.
My thoughts were again rudely shaken by new orders, tomorrow after breakfast another move, be ready.
After marching for some time we turned right and into the now deserted British Army Camp of ‘Birdwood’. Everything which was moveable had gone. With fellow sergeants we were given a long wooden hut, with a trestle table and two forms, there was ample space. We had no tiffin, but mess stewards brought along the usual dirty rice, only boiling water could get rid of the grit, plus what some called the weevil meat ration, at what we now came to call supper.
Next morning, after Roll Call, I was taken just outside the Officers quarters, which was hidden by a high fence. The Sergeant Major, ordered me to take a seven hundred weight truck to the Royal Naval Dock Yards at the Eastern end of the island, and get a long handled drill and one spade. I was to bring it back here and I would find four detailed men. We were to drill into the earth two deep holes, the depth of the drill handle. This was to be finished before standing down, no matter what time. Going to the Royal Naval Stores I got my first sight of the Quarter Master Chief Petty Officer. His look told me all, he was a perked up bully with no nonsense.
“Who sent you sergeant, the whole rank and name”
It seemed to me we had better get on level terms, any refusal to apply meant going back, with no drill and spade, with my tail between my legs.
“Look here Petty Officer I have my orders and must collect a long handle drill and spade. These will no doubt be returned, for what use, I was not told,”
He replied that nothing left his store unless it went to an officer, he wanted rank, name and unit, then he would make a decision. This was bordering on ridiculous and I smartly told him our war was over and tried the ‘Everything now belonged to the Japanese, and I would sign for the items. An able seaman was standing in the shadows grinning, and that annoyed me even more. The P. O. started looking through papers, obviously taking his time, so I spoke sarcastically,
“We may be released before I can go with the tackle, with the Senior Service being at its best, with Naval guns that fire backwards”
I had made an enemy for life, but he spoke to his side kick and the drill and spade were handed over, but he had his parting shot,
“These will not be received back unless in a clean condition. The Navy has its rules”.
On returning to the truck, and driving back to Birdwood, I ordered two men to drill the holes, but my troubles were not over. One detailed man was looking at the drill making no effort to start,
“What are we digging for sarge, an escape tunnel?”
For the life of me I didn’t know, but that was not for him to ask the question,
After I repeated the order they started, and as hoped one of them did have a watch. It was hard work turning the blades, pulling it out, then emptying the displaced soil, making it very slow laborious work.
When they asked for a drink it seemed a reasonable request, but where to ask, it would be difficult knocking on any door as the colonel himself might. Fortunately, I noticed a hut with black smoke going heavenwards, it must be the cook house, so I strode over. Like all cooks, the cook who greeted me and before I opened my mouth he snapped,
“Sergeant or not, no food”.
The stupid oaf, I then told him I wanted some water for four working men, so be quick, ‘chop chop’. A bucket was presented and I wondered how this water had appeared so quickly, was it sea water, after sticking in a finger and tasting, it was fresh water alright. Carrying the bucket back to the men there were some harsh remarks of the time taken to collect it.
Everything comes to an end, and sweating and tired after task was completed, we went back to our quarters.
The next day the Sergeant Major approached me again,
“Sorry lad but there must be six holes. I’ll show you, so get four men and start. Let me remind you, the holes must be ready today.”
I randomly picked four men who looked pained, it was obvious yesterday’s men had told all. Fortunately, discipline was holding. To report men refusing to do the work would leave me with a deep regret.
The work started drilling and digging again with questions as to why they were digging. They toiled all day and I was as mystified as they were, it could be foundations using heavy logs, to be sunk into the holes, but why and just here?
I reported the work was finished.
While the men had been digging, I looked around Birdwood for possible timber to build myself a bed. to find is possible some timber and build myself a bed. I could get a sprung seat from the derelict trucks, but nails, saw and hammer, I was without, if I found timber where could I find these tools. I must think again and maybe be crafty.
On the outer edge of camp, was a very small, as new, wooden hut, which maybe was a Toolshed. Taking back the drill and spade, I now asked for a hammer and small saw. Which he handed over without a word. Now armed with my tools, I commenced knocking down this really lovely shed. I would be in real trouble if the Japanese caught me at this demolition.
It took me three days to complete and looked over my work with pride. Trying it, the sprung cushion being the biggest I could find, was only four feet long. My legs were left dangling down in fresh air. No matter how I tried to lay in comfort, it was useless. The other sergeants looking on were vastly amused. Forgetting to return the tools to the Navy, I took the tools to the joiner and he was over the moon with them, who would be bothered.
The mystery of the holes was now made known as on parade the Sergeant Major told us,
“These holes are your latrines, owing to no water the camp W.Cs are unusable”
With his usual lack of humour he added
“Bring your own newspaper”
At that a great laugh came from the Sergeant Major which was quite unexpected. Perhaps holes and similar holes like these, were to play a big part in our future in the camps.
After almost two weeks, I started shivering in the evening yet I was warm, my head was ready to burst open. Pulling my legs under my chin, I knew it was malaria. How would the Japanese respond to illness in the camp? The following morning I reported sick and the M.O gave me instructions,
“Sorry Sergeant but you’ll have to walk. I’ll give you a note to hand in at the hospital”
He then gave me directions to the hospital, and as transport was not available at any time. I walked or staggered along a well made road until I came to a barrier with a pole across the road. It was manned by a Sikh, after failed attempts at communication, we just stood looking at each other, it was apparent he spoke no English. I was now feeling very feverish and neighbouring on delirium. A man appeared coming towards us and carrying a small red flag which he handed to me. The Sikh then opened the barrier and off I set. On approaching the hospital gates another Sikh took the flag and I went in. I never found out that this strange exchange of the flag was all about, but I was to learn the Japanese had some strange, if not idiotic ideas.
After that I remember little from the delirious condition I was now in. In my previous bouts of Malaria, when approaching the crisis point, it seemed that my tongue was swelling and getting too large. This frightening condition seemed to be happening again, and it seemed as though it was never going to stop.
It was in hospital that I found three real friends. How they came to know me I shall never know, but they treated me as a special person.
When the M.O came on his morning rounds and giving me the nasty taste quinine, a poorly dressed Indian boy of about eleven, who swept the floor of the ward causing small dust clouds, would stand behind him. After the M.O leaving my side the boy would sidle up to my bed and offer a small sweet from a paper bag. Obviously this was to take away the nasty taste of the quinine. It was a touching little gesture from the young lad who seemed to have nothing. With words I couldn’t thank him, but I hoped my smile and eyes would tell him how much I appreciated his gesture. I never saw him go to any other bed.
As I had started to lose my high temperature, I awoke to find two soldiers looking at me smiling. It later transpired that they were both hospital workers. Each day they were there spending a little time with me, then on leaving they would leave a match box with sugar in it. This I mixed with my rice, it made a lovely meal. This sugar must have been sacrifice as it would have cost a lot of money.
During that sickness I had made three marvellous friends who made life worth living.
Back now at the Birdwood camp, as sergeants, we had to take marching parade. We marched the men across a small concrete area and between the huts. Saluting, marching, about turn, and stamping feet at halts, the Sergeant Major was on parade watching. In the distance we would see the R.S.M giving drill to the officers on sword drill, using twigs as swords. This all took place before our breakfast.
I liked this marching drill, it made me feel a soldier and smart. The days were long with no outside work it was boring. In the afternoon we got our heads down to about an hours sleep. The rest of the time we just sat about. We did not realise how lucky we actually were.
Then it started, someone started a rumour that there had been an invasion by Marines, who fought and beat the Japanese on the mainland. The war was over as rumoured circumstances of how this occurred were amazing. The padre had sworn it was true on his bible and the City Hall in Singapore was flying flags of all nations. Many thought including me there was a wireless hidden somewhere and only bits allowed out for security, and it was news from the wireless. The ridiculous rumour was believed, but soon the truth was told. It had a very bad reaction in the camp, with us now realising we did not know what was happening in the outside world.
After the war rumour had passed, a cloud covered life, my fellow sergeants were miserable, felt downtrodden, as if we had all gone into a cocoon. There was little if any conversation, they smiled when necessary, maybe good morning, but had so it seemed they had no interest in the camp. Except from the daft borehole rumours there was nothing to lift us.
This is a case in point. As sometimes happened something came our way out of the blue, a half page of a British magazine appeared from nowhere. It was advertisement for a detached house. The front elevation had a front door with a built in window, then next the front door was a small window, then a larger window. I had spent some time in an architect’s office and the small window attracted me, it just didn’t fit in. The front door would give sufficient light, the small window was not necessary. I thought I’d try and make a plan of the downstairs from the photograph, but this window. I knew that the father of a sergeant was the leading architect in Blackpool. The son in his late twenties had worked for him, so he too must be a qualified architect in his own right. I asked him for his views and possibly between us we could make a plan. It was not relevant to our situation in a PoW Camp but I thought it would give us an interest. His look was sufficient not needing any reply.
“Can’t see any point, count me out”
This was the point I am trying to make, he had nothing to do, only sit around and mope away the hours.
On the large table in the hut I started my plan, I just could not fit this window in. Could it be a cloak room or a toilet, it just was not right. After some time juggling about I thought, a staircase, four steps up and a turn. This window would give some light. I felt I had mastered a major scientific puzzle, many just looked as passing, but said nothing, but it swept away the hours.
When the house plan was finished I obtained a print of a very old British Cathedral. Another challenge which threw down a much harder gauntlet to obtain foolscap paper, with the loss of some cigarettes I managed it and made myself busy again.
I don’t know how it happened but a sergeant split the mess into two teams then two men, one from each side, were to study a copy of Whittaker’s Almanac. They had to find a series of around thirty questions, writing down the question and answer. The game master then would ask each member a question from the paper he was given. A correct answer would receive a point for his team. With men seated on the floor we began and what a difference this simple game made of our very existence.
It brought us more together. After a time someone suggested that the winning team should challenge other ranks to a game, which was held, and this continued for about two months.
What a boon this book was to us all as it became our Bible.
A situation arose for which we had no excuse or reason for. We sergeants overslept one morning and did not attend the early morning parade. We were certainly woken up by the Regimental Sergeant Major, who came barging in shouting brimstone. We were later paraded in front of the Major. There was nothing he could do, but to go into us with bad mouth for not being an example to the lower ranks and therefore lowering the standards in the camp.
About this time that the Japanese released Players cigarettes, one packet of twenty to each man. No reason was ever given and we never discovered how they came to have such a stock. They then suggested they would give us two packets of Red Star cigarettes in exchange for one pack of Players. So a deal was made but how come they had such a stock of the inferior Red Star?
One day idling about I thought of trying my luck drawing a plan of Blackpool. Being fairly confident that I could recall every street and avenue as working for Uncle Charlie I had been the delivery driver, delivering new furniture to his customers. Later I used the same lorry picking and delivering goods for Dad’s saleroom, so over some three years, I got to find and remember these roads. Starting in the centre at the Town Hall I was now up to the North Pier jutting out into the Irish Sea, I then carried on drawing to the North. In no time I surprised myself having reached the end of the foolscap paper, but I still had a long way to reach the far end of Blackpool. As I was working on the long table in the mess, the sergeants who were from Blackpool started to take an interest. Remarks such as,
“Bet you haven’t got my road in your plan” .
Word got around and many wanted to see if I had actually put in their road. It took me, about three weeks but it helped to keep me going plus for a short time I had fame.
Then with no explanation, all the mosquito nets were to be handed into the office. I doubted if there were ten such nets all told, having seen no Japanese since being at Blackwood, there was talk these for use of our officers.
By this time the early morning marching had been stopped, it appears our officers had realised boot issue was a dream and at this rate we would not have any boots left, this was later proved.
Rumour was that within a few weeks we were being transported, but to where?
One of the rumours was being the French Prison Island known as Devil’s Island, which was most daft. yet many considered this the place. It seemed that we were being moved as the Japanese could not afford to keep us.
At that time a decision was made by the officers which caused a great deal of discontent and quite right. The Japanese were going to release a great deal of English food which was stored in Singapore, this was to be divided between the Royal Artillery and the Surreys. Our officers had decided instead of one big bust up of this food, it should be divided into a small shares covering several days. All ranks were not invited or advice sought. The officers knew best.
It happened that our officers decided we should have the goodies spread over a number of meals. I must say, as regards to myself, the small portion was not noticed. There were many grumbles from the men but to whom could we complain? The officers were never seen, they kept to their huts and well hidden. The Surreys decided on one big smash and approached our lot, complaining we had savings and should be shared. To our complete surprise and disgust we gave our savings to them.
On a Sunday afternoon I heard a faint sound of a bagpipe and I could not explain the deep feeling that came over me. Liking music, I had not heard any music of any kind since our capture. The bagpipe up to that point had not been a favourite of mine, but this afternoon it was a complete delight. I crept towards the music to get a clearer sound and got within sight of the lone piper.
A voice sounded “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Looking around feeling guilty I saw our Captain Hilton. Looking back to that situation, I often wonder why I felt guilty. The officers had many advantages in the camp, including this, a Piper playing for them. Why not to the miserable other ranks, which included me, did this thought not come to them? He must have then realised the situation as he said,
“Next Sunday come to that hut at 3pm. Bring with you four other soldiers, and I’ll play two gramophone records. I’ll call it a question in Music, to see if any of the men are musically minded”
I wondered why, was this an excuse, were we different and of no account?
Sunday I took along four fellow pals which included a pianist, believing he would enjoy this unusual little entertainment. We were told to listen to the music and he would then ask a question. His question was an octave, had we spotted this? Whilst I had enjoyed the music I had to admit it was a bit too highbrow for me, but the musician spotted it. There was no prize given.
Sometime later we were ready to move. The latest rumour had us being sent to the highlands in Burma where English families would holiday in the hot seasons. Here rumour had it we would enjoy open air baths and hotel accommodation. How daft can you get?
I the early morning of the 20th of June, we were very surprised to be loaded onto lorries and driven to the Singapore Railway Station. How different to our last time here when young ladies in floral frocks had given out with a smile, postcards.
We were loaded into very long cold metal railway trucks with double doors on either side. Japanese soldiers pushed, shoved us, getting very rough. I knew what was going to happen, it was going to be very cramped, so I used rank and sat on one side of the truck with my legs dangling over the side. My bag containing a small amount of kit, I slung onto a high hinge. Voices were started shouting,
“We’re full, no more”
Yet more were pushed in, making about thirty men in the carriage. Angry, frightened voices came from the inside, they were being crushed. The carriage became like sardines in a tin, then it stopped. The men were trying to get as comfortable as possible, with groans and shout to make more room, after a while silence now prevailed. Managing to look into the truck, men were bent with knees under their chins, their small baggage was under their legs. The heat was rising with the sun, it was becoming unbearable. I gathered that on travelling, if the guards left the doors open, there would be a rush for cooler air. At the other end of the door was Sergeant Nicholas, did he like me, remember the good times back at Birdwood, now a happy memory.
|
|
Previous Page
|
Next Page
|
|
|
|
